


Seeing Red

by crna_macka



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Gen, Implied Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:26:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5376902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crna_macka/pseuds/crna_macka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Alex just needs to let loose. Sometimes that's what happens in Geneva. Sometimes Geneva doesn't happen at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing Red

The doomed Geneva trip was, in retrospect, a greater disruption of routine than Alex generally gave it credit for. Supergirl's debut completely changed her day-to-day at home and at work, and because that was _so_ huge (and the effects so tumultuous in their own right) she essentially accepted that errand that she had planned to run during her personal time in Europe simply wouldn't happen this year.

And since it was a flight to Geneva all over the news and since Alex's contact knew the basics of her itinerary, no excuses or explanations were needed. One simple text: _Sorry. Don't reschedule. Work's about to get crazy._

She hadn't expected a response. She wasn't disappointed by the lack of one; she was too busy to even really be upset about the missed vacation time until wreaths and ribbons started appearing on the streets of National City. Suddenly her mother's flight confirmation showed up in her inbox and the whole reason she even _needed_ an annual get-away to another continent reared its ugly head.

God, her mother's presence could smother an entire metro corridor. The woman hadn't even landed yet and Alex could smell the ozone in the thinning air. She had already finished off the special Thanksgiving beer reserve she had bought over the weekend. And when her mother - and then holiday, and then blackout - arrived, she steadily worked her way through the special Thanksgiving wine over at Kara's.

When she was at work, Vasquez discreetly kept her coffee mug full and a bottle of water on hand.

When she was ready to leave, the other woman caught her eye and shook her head. "Go to bed." _Do not pass through the kitchen, do not collect twenty dollars worth of wine, whiskey, or any other beverage._

Okay, she thinks. Okay. She raises her chin in acknowledgement and palms the door.

Halfway to her apartment, her mind racing through recounting the horrors of the past month in particular, the bitterness creeps back. She'll do what she wants. Maybe not drink - because she's done enough of that lately and she's too responsible to go on a bender when Kara is continuously throwing herself in the line of fire - but maybe go to the gym, blow off steam until her knuckles are raw and the physical ache eats right through to her core. She wants the blood pounding loud enough to drown out her mother's cool, critical voice.

Eliza had apologized, and yet. She really hadn't.

Maybe Alex needs something stronger than the gym.

She knows the right alleys to walk down, the right doors to knock on, the right name to give to get into the right dimly lit back rooms. She changes into the gear stashed under the workout clothes in her gym bag. Black sport top, black board shorts, black gloves. Red mouth guard. Red guard. Red. Ready.

Alex doesn't worry in the ring. She rarely finds herself here, but she knows that every single fighter on the list is just as human as she is. When she takes a hit, she's still on equal footing. And she doesn't lose. She doesn't _lose_ when she comes to the ring.

She's never lost.

She does taking a beating, though. It's not like training with Kara in the dampener room. It's not like going one-on-one with a coworker. It's somewhere in between and without the safety net of knowing the hits _will_ stop coming. No one here cares if your body is a government asset, not once you step into the ring.

And the bell does ring. When she's favoring her left side and her steps are starting to drag and her hair is sleek with sweat. She's never still, still moving at least minutely, when the bout is called. It's not that she doesn't look at the other woman, but her gaze doesn't linger on the swelling red flesh of her cheek and jaw. Alex swipes her wrist under her nose and looks at the streak of blood instead.

No one can say she didn't fight for this win. No one can say she _didn't_ win.

She'll take it, for now. She'll check her ribs, wash her face, collect her money and go home. Maybe detour for a nice bottle of asprin on the way. And then she'll soak away the grime, melt into her mattress, and sleep away the bruises.

Except there's someone waiting when she leaves. Someone that follows her to her car. That someone is toying with her.

Alex is in no mood for the game. She stops short of unlocking the doors and turns, ready to call out the stalker, but -

No, she doesn't get to do that, either. She's slack-jawed, speechless, blinking at the familiar figure approaching under the strange angling of the street lights. "Agent Danvers," the woman calls out. "We missed you in Geneva."

The formality is nothing but a tease, sending Alex tripping over her thoughts again. "'We?'" she echoes, and the woman stops, less than two feet between them. Even in plainclothes and favoring Alex with a smile, Maria Hill is impressive. Arresting.

"You missed you in Geneva, too, if I'm not mistaken." Blue eyes flick meaningfully toward the gym bag on Alex's hip, over the battered knuckles of her hand on the strap.

"I knew I had a tail," Alex says abruptly.

"At ease. You aren't being graded."

Alex knows. That why she's come undone, sagging into the other woman's careful hug. She lets out a breath through her mouth and breathes in deep through her nose - never mind the ache - catching worn leather and clean skin, mint. Citrus and sweet on Maria's breath. Alex leans against Maria's chest as her friend continues. "Saw the end of your bout. Is this what you do when I'm not around?"

They both know it's not. Alex might be a DEO agent, but Maria's work is even more covert, more watchful. More information. Higher clearance levels. Remembering that, Alex starts to straighten. "What's in National City-"

"Just you," Maria says, having nothing to hide. "And Supergirl, but you have that covered."

Alex starts to scoff but the noise gets stuck in the back of her throat. "She's a handful," she manages and starts to collect herself. Maria helps her straighten, pushing her shoulders back, and she knows the woman is making a subtle assessment. 

Whatever the conclusion is, Maria steps back and holds out her hand. "You're well off the clock. Let me drive you home."

This isn't how things would have gone in Geneva. Maria wouldn't have asked, and Alex wouldn't have made it easy on her. But then, this isn't Geneva. The circumstances are different in National City, and maybe it makes sense that how Alex handles it should be different, too.

So she takes the hard road. She gives in.


End file.
